On my father's wings
by Adara's Rose
Summary: She is Visenya Targaryen, second of her name, and she never knew her father. But she knows this; he died smiling at her weeping mother, she has inherited his eyes, and his name was Jorah Mormont.
1. Eyes

_Someday,_

 _with his spirit to guide me_

 _and his memory beside me_

 _I will be free_

 _to fly on my father's wings_

 _\- Quest for Camelot_

* * *

When she grew up, Visenya Targaryen would spend many nights staring into the mirror. She was told over and over again, that she looked just like her mother - but she had her father's eyes. His eyes, deep and dark blue, like the vast ocean that separated her from the place where he had breathed his last. She was told he had died smiling at her mother. She wondered what his eyes had looked like, as he died.

Her mother spoke very little of her father, no matter how much Visenya begged. But to be honest Visenya had stopped asking years ago, when she was still a child. For every time she asked, her mother's face went very hard and then she sent her errant daughter to bed no matter the hour. And later the same night, Visenya would lie awake and listen to her mother's anguished sobs.

Mother had loved father very much, Visenya knew. Perhaps that was why she never spoke of him, would never let his name be mentioned in her presence. Or perhaps that was to spare Visenya. She wondered if she knew that she would not allow her father to be spoken of, to spare her grief. Perhaps, they were both trying very hard to protect each other.

So, Visenya knew very little of her father. She knew he had been a hero, a warrior, and noble and good. She knew he had loved her mother very much, and she knwe that she had inherited his eyes.

Oh, and one more thing. His name.

Jorah Mormont.


	2. Stranger

Grey Worm had thought he knew his khaleesi. Years of having given her his life, his everything, and now he wondered if he knew her at all. The thought had trickled into his brain slowly, as he watched this worn out, exhausted man shamble into the hall like a corpse seeking revenge. As the man's legs gave out on him about halfway through the hall, Daenerys howled like a wounded animal and ran towards him, arms outstretched as if her embrace would make a difference.

But it was her wails that made Grey Worm think maybe he didn't know her at all. Missandei had run forward too, in a useless attempt to keep Daenerys from making a scene, but it had been useless. The khaleesi clutched the dead foreigner in her arms, her cries echoing through the hall. He wondered if she had wept like this when Khal Drogo had died, but somehow he doubted it. It is one thing to lose the one you love, but another to lose the man you gave your everything.

He wondered if this... _Was it even still Jorah...?_ Had lived long enough to hear about the baby.


	3. Sister

_'Smells weird'_ , was Drogon's wise comment as he folded his heavy wings, trying to make himself as small as possible. Which was an impressive feat, considering how large he was.

 _'Is it dirty?'_ Rhaegal wondered as he tried to stick his snout into the bundle of fabric and got a smack from Mother for his trouble.

"Careful!" Daenerys warned, "I won't have you harm her."

' _As if we would'_ _,_ Viserion snorted and edged closer, trying to see the pink thing that Mother insisted was their little sister.

' _It looks like lunch'_ _,_ Rhaegal muttered crankily, sore about the smack.

 _'It's a runt',_ Viserion fretted as he sat very still and stared down at the thing. _'_ _And no wings!'_

 _'Mother doesn't have wings,'_ Rhaegal almost sounded comforting as he edged forward again, curious.

' _As if anyone would ever dare call mother a runt_ _.'_ clearly, Rhaegal was still sore about the smack but rushing to his mother's defense anyway.

Daenerys carefully laid her infant daughter on the stone altar so that the three dragons could see her properly. She adjusted the soft downy blankets and Visenya opened sleepy blue eyes. Daenerys' heart stopped momentarily. Jorah's eyes. Drawing a deep, slightly shaky breath she stepped back, letting the dragons crowd around the baby.

If Visenya could not steal and keep her brothers' hearts when she was a babe, she'd not live long. And yet… it terrified her beyond belief to know that Jorah's daughter was completely unprotected.

The dragons, who crowded around the stone altar to a point where Daenerys could see nothing but their scales, looked intently at the baby sister. Then, Viserion let his long black tongue roll out to lick the baby over a chubby cheek. At the same time, he let out a deep rumble of approval.

Visenya wrapped a tiny hand around the forked tongue and pulled it into her mouth, making the other two dragons snort and flap their wings in obvious amusement.

Viserion ignored them both, the approving rumble rising in volume.

 _'Hello little sister'_ , Viserion sent to the baby, trying to disentangle himself and stay where he was at the same time.

Her eyes were the unending blue of the evening sky.


	4. Wish

It was the hardest at night, Daenerys thought as she gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed where her daughter slept. With her eyes closed, it was a little easier to look at her. When she was awake, Visenya looked at her with Jorah's eyes, wild and laughing and serious and unending. Some days, it made it impossible to meet her gaze without feeling the tears ache in her throat.

 _Jorah._ Her Jorah. Brave, loyal, hers until his last breath. Jorah, who gave every strand of life he had left in his body to get back to her. Jorah, who had looked into her eyes and died with her name on his lips. He had never known about their baby. She had never been able to tell him that she was his, that all he had to do was ask and she'd marry him on the spot. The family she'd dreamt of in the darkest of nights, when she waited for him to return, was never going to be. When she allowed herself to not be khaleesi, not be strong and wise and ruthless.

She had prayed, on those nights, to get to look into his eyes again. You really ought to be careful what you wish for, Daenerys thought wistfully as she brushed an errant wisp of hair from her daughter's sleeping face.

For now she was going to spend the rest of her life looking into Jorah's eyes.


	5. Ocean

The ocean was horrible, Visenya thought tearfully as she hid her face in her mother's skirts. It was nothing like what she had grown up with. No, it was wet and cold and deep and unending and she did not know what lay behind it. But mother was calm, firm, hard. Like stone, like the desert nights. Like iron, iron in the throne mother said was to be hers.

She didn't want a throne, Visenya thought tearfully.

She wanted the warm sands and bright sun, to run and play and dance and sing and have people marvel at her paleness, whispering about the man who had fathered her on their khaleesi. The warrior from beyond the seas.

And now, mother was bringing her to the lands that were her father's, that mother said were hers. That she had been born for them, that they belonged to her. Mother's eyes had gone cold when she tried to say she didn't want them.

"You are your father's daughter" Daenerys had said, her voice hard. "But you will prove yourself to be mine."

Visenya wondered what they were like. Her father's people.

A strong hand was placed on her tiny shoulder, and she turned to look up at Grey Worm. He was always by her side, her best friend and teacher.

"I don't want to sit on the Iron Throne" she told him, voice quivering.

"I know" he agreed, looking out over the endless blue. "But you will."


	6. Plot

"I expect you have a plan." It wasn't a question, but Daenerys treated it as such.

"Naturally." She walked slowly across the moor, letting the wind playing her hair. By her side walked the only man who could challenge her daughter's claim to the throne. Jon Snow.

"And am I to be privy to this plan?" he wanted to know.

"No. Not yet, at least."

"If I am to help you play the game-" he began, and Daenerys laughed.

"There will be no game." she replied confidently, "Children do not play such games."

That's when he understood.

"Visenya" he said, and then he shook his head. "She's but a child."

"Yes. An innocent, wide-eyed child. A princess on her mother's side, and a lady on her father's. With a heart as vast as the north, a spirit as innocent as snow."

They stopped, watching the child as she ran and played on the windy plains before them. Her hair shone like gold in the sunlight.

"Have you spoken to the Mormonts?" Jon asked, eventually.

"Not yet. They are not important."

"Not even as relatives of the queen?" Daenerys ignored the question, turning instead to look at him.

"You accept her, then." She demanded.

"I was not raised to rule. I have no interest in it. In my youth, I planned to be a watcher, but it was not to be my fate." Jon met her gaze, calm as the snow they had spoken of earlier. His eyes were thin ice over treacherous waters. Visenya danced through life, as light as a feather. Her little feet would not crack the ice in Jon's eyes. Daenerys felt confident that her daughter would dance across it without getting wet.

"Perhaps it is your fate. But not the sort of watcher you thought."

Jon turned to watch the girl-child as he mulled it over. Daenerys thought of the man who had fathered her.

"She needs a watcher" she finally ventured. "And a hand."

Jon nodded slowly.

"I shall serve my little queen well."

"Yes," Daenerys agreed with relief, "you will."


	7. Speech

They looked at each other critically, the man and the girl.

She thought him to be rather large and fat, and in his heavy black clothes he looked a bit like a lump of coal left out in the rain, only partly burned. He towered over her, too, which she didn't like. But Mother had said that it was the curse of little girls, and in time she would be as tall as her. Or maybe even her father. She would like to be as tall as father, Visenya thought.

"You are to teach me the language of your lands." She said, trying to sound like a queen as she spoke. Well, sound like her mother. Visenya wasn't completely on the clear of what the difference was between being queen and being khaleesi, but Mother had said that there was a difference. 'I am khaleesi' mother had said as she laid her cheek to Visenya's, 'and you shall be queen'.

The fat man looked back, clearly unimpressed. He saw a slip of a girl, gangly and gawky, mostly consisting of eyes and elbows. She had blonde curls that seemed to be untameable, a tear in her green dress, and was that _dirt_ on her face? But she had the fine features of the Targaryen's, and if she was anything like her mother she was going to be stunning when she grew up.

"I am Samwell Tarly" he told the little girl who insisted she was to be a queen. She cocked her head to the side, clearly considering the words. He wondered how long she had been made to practice the greeting. It had not sounded like her own words. Her lips formed the words as she repeated them silently, then it was as if she made up her mind.

"I am Visenya Mormont" she told him, and this time it sounded more honest, like the words were hers and not what her mother had told her to say.

"Visenya Mormont, first of my name" he corrected her. She looked confused, clearly not understanding, but after a few moments of consideration she straightened her narrow back, turned her little face up and leveled him with a haughty look that made him think that she might make a half-decent queen one day. Well, it wasn't as if she could be worse than Cersei.

"I am Visenya Mormont, first of my name, queen of West-e-ros."

When he looked at the girl, something started to move deep in his mind and suddenly he recognized the look of determination in her eyes. He had seen it before.

There was no denying that the girl in front of him was related to Jorah Mormont.


	8. Swing

"What is that, Master Tarly?" Visenya demanded in her charmingly heavy accent, pointing at something that had captured her attention as they walked together through one of the many gardens of the keep. It was an old rope swing, worn and dirty but with apparently sturdy ropes. It hung from a thick branch on an old tree, as if just waiting for a child to play on it.

"It is a swing, little queen" the nickname had first been used by Lord Snow - it felt weird to call him Jon these days - and it had stuck. Samwell wondered how long it'd be before Cersei sent someone to deal with it; they all knew they were on borrowed time. Well, all except the girl herself.

"How does it work?" Visenya turned to him expectantly, and Samwell felt a bit at a loss. How exactly do you explain how a swing works? It just works. He looked helplessly over at Jon, who as always hovered over their charge like an anxious mountain.

"I think it best to show you by using it, little queen" Jon said, as he led them over to it. Visenya looked rather doubtful as she sat down on it, but remembered what Mother had said she would do to both Master Tarly and Lord Snow if she as much as stubbed her toe under their supervision.

"Now what?" She demanded, looking up at them. Jon smiled back; he couldn't help but like this strong willed little wisp, and he thought that with the three of them reigning her in she'd make an excellent queen someday… provided she didn't listen too much to her mother.

"Now you hold on tight" he said as he walked around the swing to stand behind her, "and enjoy yourself." Then he pulled the swing back a few inches before pushing it forward. Visenya cried out in alarm, but Samwell smiled in encouragement.

"No harm will befall you, little queen" he said, "just trust in your Queen's hand."

* * *

Daenerys heard the cries long before she saw what was going on, but the sound of her daughter's voice raised in such a way still made her sprint like a spooked horse instead of striding like a khaleesi.

She stopped, dumbfounded, as she watched the scene. Visenya was seated on a thick plank held up with ropes, shrieking with laughter as Jon Snow pushed her higher and higher.

"What is going on here!" She demanded as she stormed towards them.

"Mama!" Visenya cried in delight, "I'm swinging! It's wonderful! You must try!" With that, Visenya let go of the ropes and flew through the air, her delighted screech nearly making Daenerys heart give out. Tarly darted forward and caught the girl neatly in her arms.

"Your turn, mama!" Visenya laughed, her hair flying every which way, her eyes bright as the sky. She looked so much like Jorah in that moment that Daenerys found herself doing as she was asked.

But her heart beat very, very fast as she felt Snow pull her back and then push her forward.


	9. Birthday

Daenerys sat on the edge of the bed, Visenya on her lap. Missandei stood next to them, brushing the girl's long golden curls. Visenya's head was resting sleepily on her mother's shoulder. The evening was late, and they'd had a big day.

"So many people" Visenya complained tiredly, then whimpered as Missandei tugged at one of the trickier tangles. It wasn't the girl's fault that her hair was a mess this time; Daenerys had insisted on a rather advanced hairdo and elegant clothes when she introduced her daughter to her people. Well, a select few of her people, chosen carefully by the queen's hand. Most likely, the queen's hand's adopted sister had a hand in the choosing, come to think of it. Lady Stark would never let something as important as a future uprising happen without her. Her father had helped in the Baratheon's rebellion, after all.

Daenerys rocked her daughter slowly, momentarily content to just hold her child close and feel her little heart beat, light and fragile as a bird. "You did well, dearest."

And she had; proud, but humble. Sweet and good-natured, but not a hint of silliness. She had wrapped their hearts around her fingers within the hour. Daenerys could not have been prouder. Presenting the child as a Mormont had been a stroke of genius. One look at the girl was enough to prove that she was of Targaryen blood, and Lord Mormont had gazed into her eyes for many minutes in quiet contemplation before, to everyone's shock, kneeling to the little girl so he could embrace her properly.

"Jorahs daughter" he had said, his voice choked with tears. "My granddaughter, I never dared dreamed you'd ever be." Daenerys would never admit it, but even she had felt tears sting her eyes as she saw her daughter hug the old man. It had been sweet, and touching, and it had made her feel Jorah's absence like a knife in her heart.

With Lord Mormont on one side and Jon Snow on the other, Visenya had bent the rest to her will easily. Especially after Sansa Stark had complimented her dress, saying she looked "very regal" with a pointed look at Daenerys.

"I liked Lady Sansa" Visenya said sleepily, mirroring Daenerys' thoughts. "She is very pretty. Not as pretty as you though, mama."

"All daughters think their mothers are the most beautiful" Missandei teased as she started braiding Visenya's hair. Making her sleep with braids was the latest weapon in the war on tangles, and in the depth of her mind Missandei knew she had already lost. But still, she enjoyed doing this little favour for the girl that was as close as she would ever be to a child of her own.

"What do you want for your birthday, Nya?" Daenerys asked as she tucked the girl in, heart soft in her chest at seeing Jorah's eyes blinking sleepily up at her.

"You're going to make me queen" The girl murmured as she yawned.

"That's already decided, dearest. I wondered what you wanted as a gift."

"Not being queen?" Visenya looked hopeful, but a stern look from her mother vanquished it. Instead, the girl gave a sweet, devious little smile.

"Lean down, mama" she ordered, and Daenerys obeyed. As her daughter whispered in her ear, she started to smile.

"Darling, that is… terrible. People will be horrified." Grinning, Daenerys pressed one last kiss to her daughter's brow. "I'll have a word with Lord Snow in the morning."


	10. Throne

Visenya looked apprehensively at the throne. It was large; much larger than she had expected, and she wondered if she was going to need help to get up. Once more, she desperately wanted to run away, but Mother stood just behind her like a silent commandment. Visenya drew a deep, shaky breath and wished father was there. Surely she'd be allowed to hold his hand.

Every eye in the hall was focused on the child as she approached slowly, apprehensively, flanked by Daenerys -lady Mormont, as some said- and Jon Snow, the Stark bastard and queen's hand. Visenya felt every gaze like a stone in a pouch around her neck, and with every step it felt a little heavier. She wanted to hunch her shoulders and hang her head, but Mother would never allow it.

Finally she stood before the throne, and then Master Tarly stepped forward. He held a small set of wooden stairs, elegantly carved, and placed them in front of the throne. Visenya gave him a shaky smile, wanting to run to him and bury her face in his dark robe, but she did not dare. Instead she climbed the stairs, doing her best to do it in a queenly way. She had no idea what a queenly way looked like, but when she finally dared to look at her mother she saw the pride in her eyes. Visenya drew a deep breath, then slowly sat down on the Iron Throne. She adjusted her dark red dress, a nervous gesture she had inherited from her mother.

She wasn't completely sure what she had expected, but when Grey Worm placed a fine gold crown inlaid with sapphires and mother of pearl on her head and the people assembled started applauding and cheering and calling 'all hail the queen!', Visenya turned terrified, pleading eyes on her mother and started to cry.


	11. Queen

The cheering eventually died down, and Visenya's frightened tears stopped falling. Daenerys smiled encouragingly at her, but said nothing. Visenya drew a deep, shaky breath and started speaking.

"I am Visenya Mormont, first of my name" her voice trembled, but became stronger as she spoke, "I am the dragon in human skin, the desert wind, the new hope. Queen of Westeros. You will kneel before me."

To her amazement, man after man sank down on one knee. Warriors, lords, knights and heroes - they all knelt before a child. Finally she saw Mother and Lady Sansa and Jon Snow kneel before her. Visenya smiled slowly. She could get used to this.

Straightening her back, ignoring the way the crown cut into the back of her head, she gestured for them to stand.

"Today is my birthday" she said, making sure to pitch her voice the way Mother had taught her. It would make everyone hear her, mother had said. "And I expect there to be presents. Lord Mormont may step forward first to present his."

Mormont stepped forward, announcing that he was giving his granddaughter a fine white horse. Lady Sansa gave her a dire wolf puppy with a blue ribbon around its neck, and Visenya laughed as it licked her hand. There were other gifts of course, both expensive toys and pets, clothes and promises of fealty. But at last, once the last gift had been given by a lord whose name Visenya forgot as soon as she heard it, Jon Snow stepped forward. He said nothing, but signaled to a guardsman standing by the grand entrance. The man turned and opened the great doors.

In marched two guards, and between them they led Jaime Lannister. There were gasps and cries of horror as his bruised face and worn clothes, and confused whispers at the large silver serving platter, covered with a white cloth, in his hands. The great lion seemed completely broken and defeated, his head lowered in shame. Visenya kept her face blank like she had practiced as the broken man approached

Jaime was pushed to his knees before the throne, and after a hard smack to the back of his head he began to speak. His voice was empty, devoid of all life and emotion. He stared at a fixed point somewhere far in the distance.

"The Houses of Lannister and Baratheon present this gift on your majesty's birthday. With this gift we give our services and our eternal allegiance. Our lives are yours to do with as ye will. We swear it by the Old Gods and the New." He put the platter on the floor, then removed the cloth.

Someone screamed. Another fainted. Many more stared in horror as they slowly realised that they were looking at the decapitated head of Queen Cersei. The woman's face was frozen in an expression of permanent horror.

A small smile started playing on the rosy lips of the young queen. Then she turned her head to look expectantly at her Hand. No order was heard, but Lord Snow bowed to his queen and started a slow, determined walk across the floor.

No one moved.

Jon came to a halt just behind the prisoner.

Daenerys furrowed her brows.

Visenya gave a small nod.

Jon raised his sword.

* * *

 _And I can feel his heartbeat still  
I will do great things  
On my father's wings_


End file.
